Hell hath no fury …

I knew it was only a matter of time before someone would complain about something I wrote here. I knew when I started this whole thing that I was taking a fair amount of risk by even daring to touch on some of the most pressing, highly controversial “issues” of our day. I expected hate mail and nasty comments.
I’ve seen it on other people’s sites. I’ve seen how one malcontent can misinterpret someone’s post and then proceed, in a succession of increasingly nasty comments, to (try to) wring every bit of fun out of what was meant to invoke a lighthearted discussion. I’ve seen the fury, the backlash — and I’ve laughed at it.
But I’m not laughing now.
I didn’t expect this to happen. Not to me. These things always happened to “other people”.
When I woke up this morning, I found that my apartment had been ransacked. Clothes, some in tatters, strewn everywhere. Kitchen cabinets gaping open like so many shocked mouths. Everything everywhere … except where it’s supposed to be.
Everything, including … the cat.
She’s gone.
I put 2 and 2 together, added in the square root of pi, raised it to the ninth power, subtracted my age, and realized that this destruction has her pawprints all over it. I should’ve guessed immediately from the overturned litter box and the words “FUCK MEW, BITCH!” scrawled on the wall with its contents. But she’s done that before, just to get attention.
Well, Scorns. You’ve got my attention now. Please come home.
I apologize. I really do. I’m sorry I didn’t mention you in the post that immediately precedes this one. It was an oversight. It was not intentional.
Come back. Please come back. Come back, little Shana! I won’t even make you clean up the mess you left. Just come home. I beg of mew!